


Rick and Stan's Guide to Conning the Galaxy

by lynsaneinthemembrane



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Blow Job, Drug Use, Drug reference, Homophobic Slurs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Smut, alcohol reference, alcohol use, m/m - Freeform, stanchez
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynsaneinthemembrane/pseuds/lynsaneinthemembrane
Summary: A young Stan Pine's gets in a bit of trouble with the wrong crowd and looking to skip town. Rick Sanchez, bassist for The Flesh Curtains, is in need of a roadie. Fate? Probably not.





	1. Sick, Sick, Sick

**Author's Note:**

> my first chapter! geez, i'm rusty. it's been so long since i've been in the fanfic game, don't judge me too harshly. i hope everyone enjoys! reviews/suggestions are highly encouraged!! Huuuge thanks to lieutenantruby for being such a great beta with this chapter. 
> 
> Also, the song featured in this chapter is Sick, Sick, Sick by Queens of the Stone Age

Fist connected with flesh and the metallic taste of blood filled Stanley Pines’ mouth. Pain erupted on the side of this face, and he felt his lip split. He spat out a glob of blood to the floor, blinking in the harsh light that was being shined in his face. Struggling against the two huge men holding him down was useless; he had already tried with no success. The man who had punched him cracked his knuckles menacingly, and reared back his fist to strike again. Stan braced himself for the impact, shutting his eyes tightly, but it never came.

“You have twenty-four hours to get me my money,” said a harsh voice from behind the light. Stan could barely make out his face. Giovanni continued, “I hope ya understand I’m being generous here, Stanley. I need all $2000 in twenty-four hours, or you’ll be grinded into food for my pooches. I don’t think ya wanna be dog food, now do ya?”

“I’ll make it happen,” Stan managed to cough out, still dazed from the initial hit. “I’ll do whatever I have to, but I’ll make it happen.”

“You better.”

The large man’s fist sunk into Stan’s stomach, winding him, and before he knew it, he was sprawled out on the sidewalk. The Cadillac he had been tossed from sped away into the darkness. He struggled to his feet, rubbing his sore jaw and wiping the blood from his chin. Fuck. What the hell was he going to do?

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stan trudged down the sidewalk, his path lit up by the bright neon signs of the bars on either side him. One of eyes was almost swollen shut, and his busted lip ached. His shaking hands were plunged deep into his pocket, and he kept his eyes locked on the floor. Giovanni’s goons could be anywhere, watching his every move. He could tell he was being paranoid but couldn’t help himself. A strong gust of wind chilled Stan to his bones, and he wanted nothing more to be in a nice warm bed. A sudden laugh slipped from his mouth. _A_ bed. Wishful thinking. He racked his brains, trying to figure out some means to generate $2000 by the next day. Another panicked laugh. He was screwed.

A laughing group of people suddenly burst from a door to the left of him, and he could hear the sound of raucous music coming from inside. Another gust of wind slammed the door shut, but the music could still be heard very faintly. Stan looked up to see the name of the bar, but couldn’t make out the swirly, purple sign from his angle. Shrugging, he opened the door and took a step in. He welcomed the warmth of the building as he made a beeline for the bar. A live band was playing towards the back, their jarring music grating on his ears. He ignored them, and waved down the bartender.

 _Aw, what the hell_ , he thought, _it’s probably my last night on earth anyway. Might was well have a little fun._

The bar itself was pretty barren, most people crowded around the stage, dancing and cheering on the band as they continued their song. The bartender finished serving a couple of ladies on the other end of the bar, and slowly made his way toward Stan.

“What can I get you, handsome?” the young man said with a wink, leaning over the bar so Stan could hear him over the din of the music.

“Uh, I’ll take a shot of whiskey,” Stan replied, nonplussed. Flirty bartenders were to be expected, especially when they’re working for a tip, but he’d never had a man openly flirt with him before. Unexpected, but not bothersome.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” the man replied with a wide smile.

“Make that a double,” Stan barked back as he began to prepare his drink.

The bartender nodded and winked again, pouring Stan a generous shot. He placed it in front of him, and Stan knocked it back quickly, slapping the glass back down without a grimace. The warmth of the whiskey seeped down his chest, and he was ready for another drink. The music in the background had fallen quiet, and it looked like the band was setting their instruments down for a break. He vaguely noticed one of the band members starting to make his way to towards the bar.

“Keep ‘em coming,” Stan glanced at the man’s name tag. “Thanks, uh, Brendon.”

“You’re welcome,” Brendon replied with a flirty smile, before turning to the man who had just walked up. “The usual, Rick?”

“Y-y-you know it, babe,” the tall, lanky man replied, leaning against the bar. He gave a large belch, using the back of his hand to wipe off his mouth. He looked over to Stan, eyes traveling over his husky figure. He felt his gaze stop to rest at his face, and Stan was sure he was staring at his swollen eye and split lip.

Brendon slid Stan’s whiskey from across the bar, and busied himself with the other man’s drink. Stan opted to sip this time, relishing the burn of the alcohol on his taste buds. He was highly aware of the other man’s eyes on him as he enjoyed his drink, and wondered if he was associated with Giovanni in any way. One good look at the man told him otherwise. He was tall and thin, with tufts of wild silver hair splayed all around his head. He wore a baggy, low cut tank top, revealing most of his scrawny chest. A collar-styled choker clung around his neck, matching his leather belt, boots, and skin tight pants. Definitely not one of the huge, lumbering idiots who mindlessly followed Giovanni around. Stan stared at him and wondered how to he could breathe in those pants. He made Stan feel very over-dressed in his thick winter coat and jeans. How the hell did the guy keep warm?

“T-t-take a picture, b-buddy,” the man said with another loud burp, “it’ll l-last longer.”

“I could say the same to you, pal,” Stan retorted, draining the rest of his whiskey. “Looks to me like you’re the one with a staring problem around here.”

The man opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sing-song voice of Brendon.

“Here you go Rick! One Long Island Iced Tea, sans cola, lemon juice and syrup,” he rang out, placing the glass neatly on the bar. “Oh, and I made it a double.”

Forgetting his response, the man named Rick quickly grabbed the tall glass of liquor and guzzled it back in two large swallows. He slammed the glass back down on the counter, and let out another large belch.

“Th-thank you, sooo much, Brendon,” he slurred. “Y-y-y-you’re the best bartender in the g-galaxy. I’ll take another. Oh, a-and get one for my wide-eyed friend here.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about me, I’ll stick to my whiskey,” Stan responded, knowing very well he didn’t have enough money to cover all that alcohol. “I’m not one for, uh, fruity drinks.”

“B-bullshit,” Rick responded. “L-liquor is liquor. If y-y-you don’t drink it, I will.”

Brendon placed both glasses down, and flounced off to tend the people who had slowly meandered to the bar during the band’s absence. Rick picked his up without a thought, and chugged it back, setting the empty glass back down within a few seconds. Stan didn’t need to be told twice, and followed suit. He choked back the drink, almost gagging at the taste of the mixed liquors. He’d never had a Long Island before and realized that Rick must prefer drinking it without the mixer; it was less of a cocktail and more of an experiment with what alcohol combination will fuck you up the fastest. Attempting the drain the rest of the drink, Stan couldn’t help let out a small cough, grimacing. He set the half-empty glass back down, and Rick snickered.

"You know,” Rick laughed, “I w-was gonna invite you to come party with me and my band, but if you can't even take that, then I don't know if you can h-handle what we got going on.”

"Wait-what? Oh, you mean this?" Stan grabbed the drink, braced himself, and guzzled the rest in a single chug. He slammed the glass back down on the bar, letting out a large burp for effect.

"That ain't nothin’. You should see how long a bottle of whiskey lasts around me."

Rick chuckled, a sly smile creeping over his lips.

"Oh yeah? St-still not sure I believe you. What are you gonna do to convince me?"

Stan smirked, digging his hand into his pocket. He slapped a twenty dollar bill--all of the money he had to his name--and called out to the bartender, "Hey, Brendon! Give us another round over here, easy on the ice! And I mean, _really easy._ " Brendon promptly nodded, then set to work on their drinks. Stan turned back to Rick. "Let's make a bet."

"I'm a betting man, whatcha got?" Rick sat down at the barstool next to Stan, leaning in.

Brendon set the finished drinks in front of them. Almost the entire highball glass was filled with what could only be pure liquor, with a single ice cube floating in the center of each drink. "I bet I can finish this entire thing in one swallow," Stan replied, puffing his chest out proudly.

"Alright man, if you can finish your drink faster than me, _without_ barfing, I'll l-let you join me and the band for some b-behind the scenes action."

"You got yourself a deal, buddy. Ready, set, go!" Stan quickly grabbed his glass, and immediately began to chug it down. The strong taste of the mixed liquor assaulted his taste buds, and as soon as the nearly warm drink hit his stomach, Stan felt his gag reflex start to respond. He grimaced and continued to drink, fighting the urge the spit out the concoction.

Rick picked his drink up and idly sipped at it, watching Stan’s effort in clear amusement. When Stan dropped his glass back to the table, he turned to see a smug looking Rick laughing even harder.

"I didn't think you'd do it! I was g-gonna let you come either way, but damn, that s-sure was impressive. You've definitely gotta meet the guys."

Rick slapped some cash on the bar, making eye contact with Brendon and motioned for Stan to follow him towards the stage.

“Th-that should c-cover both our tabs,” he called out to Brendon, “k-k-keep the change.”

The bartender nodded thankfully, flashing Rick that flirty smile. Stan quietly slid his twenty off the bar and back into his pocket, before letting Rick lead him across the bar.

“Y-you’re welcome,” Rick went on as he walked Stan to a door near the stage. A wide, leering grin spread across his face. “So. W-wanna do some dr-drugs?”

Stan returned the grin.

“Do you really have to ask?”

“W-welcome to paradise,” Rick announced, leading Stan through the door.

They walked into a small, shabby dressing room littered with empty liquor bottles and fast food wrappers. The air reeked with the familiar smell of marijuana mingled with a not-so-familiar chemical smell, and a large man sitting on a battered velvet couch was rolling up a joint. A strange costume adorned his body, reminding Stan of a bird. A rather large cat-like creature was sitting up on a chair, and Stan was amazed to watch it finish a bottle of tequila and toss it haphazardly to the floor.

“Sq-squanchy, B-Bird Person, this is…” Rick trailed off. “W-what was your name again?”

“Stanley Pines,” Stan answered. “Nice to meet ya.”

“Nice to squanch ya!” the cat replied, reaching out a paw.

“What the fuck?!” Stan yelled, jumping back in surprise. Squanchy hastily withdrew his hand. “That thing can talk?!”

“Y-yeah, I t-told you that’s Squanchy,” Rick muttered, taking a seat next to Bird Person. “I-If you can’t handle it, I-I suggest you b-b-beat it.”

Bird Person held the joint in his lips, lighting it with a match. He inhaled deeply, before passing it to Rick. He took a long drag, a small smile lighting up his face as he exhaled.

“W-Wanna hit?” Rick offered to Stan, before emitting a loud belch.

Stan accepted the joint, taking a larger hit than he had meant to. He immediately exploded into a coughing fit, and passed it to Squanchy, eyes streaming. The trio laughed at him, and his vision began to blur lightly around the edges, the lights in the room shining with spectacular colors. Disoriented, he collapsed into a rickety chair by the door and struggled to catch his breath. _What the fuck,_ he thought, _I’ve never smoked anything this strong before._

“Are you enjoying our drugs, Stanley?” Bird Person asked in a flat voice. “I sprinkled some Kollaxian Crystal dust in that marijuana cigarette. I hope you are enjoying it.”

Before the dazed Stan could give a response, a woman poked her head into the room.

“You guys are back on in 5,” she called out, unfazed by the hazy smoke lingering in the air.

Rick forced the joint back into Stan’s hand, exhaling a large cloud of smoke into his face. Stan automatically brought it to his lips, taking another, smaller drag. Resisting the urge to cough, he released the smoke, looking for someone to pass the joint to. They all waved it away, gearing up for the rest of the show. Squanchy grabbed a pair of drumsticks while Rick strapped on a bass guitar. Bird Person was emitting a strange array of warbles and squawks that Stan assumed were vocal warm-ups. Stan took another puff, before hastily ashing it on a ceramic tray on the floor.

“Enjoy the show,” Rick called out, before trailing behind Squanchy and Bird Person through the door.

Stan quickly followed suit, and pushed his way through the cheering crowd as the trio took to the stage. Squanchy sat behind a drum-set adorned with a sign that said THE FLESH CURTAINS, and struck up a quick drum roll. Rick fingered a few low warm-up notes on the bass, staring out over the meager crowd. Though small, the crowd was wild and enthusiastic for the band to continue playing. Still dazed and feeling the high grow stronger with each second, Stan didn’t pay much attention to the people around him. His eyes were locked on Rick, who began to strum out the first few notes of a song. He leaned over to Bird Person, and the two shared an exchange Stan couldn’t hear above the music.

“Thank you, we appreciate your support,” Bird Person said into the microphone, his tone as flat as it had been when he talked to Stan. “I will be not be singing on this next song. Our bass guitar player will sing for you now.”

Bird Person picked up a guitar that was leaning on a large speaker behind him and began to play in harmony with Rick’s low, pulsing notes. Squanchy followed along with his drums, beating out the rhythm smoothly. The intro was rough and steady, and the longer they played, the more riled up the crowd became. Stan was getting lost in the sound of the guitars, feeling each chord vibrating within his body. Rick leaned into the microphone, growling out the lyrics:

 _Young, dumb, don’t see a problem_  
_Bloodshot, stare like a hoodlum_  
_Simple as this: I’m in love with the risk_  
_I know what I’ve done, but tell me, what did I miss?_

Rick’s voice was a low, guttural, and his eyes found Stan in the middle of the crowd. Stan thought he could see him smirking, but his vision was blurred and the flashing lights on the stage made it hard to see clearly. His body swayed to the steady beat of the song, and the compelling urge to dance was getting stronger with each verse.

 _So please, don’t save something, waste not, save nothing_  
_Lose the halo, don’t need to resist_  
_A lick of the lips and a grip of your hips_

Stan found himself forcing his way through the crowd that had suddenly seemed to have grown a lot larger in a very small amount of time. Before he knew it, he was front and center, leaning against the stage. His head raced, and he found himself unable to look away from Rick’s lean figure as he moved smoothly to the music. He was vaguely aware of his own body rocking slowly. The trio all chimed in for the chorus, split into a three-part harmony:

 _Sick, sick, sick_  
_Don’t resist_  
_Sick, sick, sick_  
_Don’t resist_

The words acted almost like a spell for Stan, and the unbridled need to dance took over. His body was an explosion of movement, and he thought he heard Rick cackling above the sound of the guitar. The people near Stan cheered him on, a few joining in and mimicking his dancing. He was faintly aware of a few people copping a quick grab of his ass, and was uncharacteristically unbothered.

 _First thing we succumb to_  
_Shout, erase, and undo_  
_Days are unreleased if there’s no release_  
_Please just let me do whatever fits you_

The song continued, and the need to dance ended almost as abruptly as it came. Stan was unexpectedly exhausted and out of breath. He leaned against the stage, feeling overwhelmed. The crowd pushed against him from behind, and he suddenly felt very claustrophobic. He looked up at Rick, who was still staring directly at him. Their eyes locked, and before Stan could give it a second thought, Rick dropped to his knees and pressed their lips together in a forceful kiss. The crowd roared in approval. The bass guitar knocked into Stan’s chest, winding him, and he tore himself away. Rick continued the song as if nothing had happened.

 _Make something, make someone_  
_Beg on a knee, baby, baby, please_  
_Pout your bottom lip_  
_While cracking the whip_  
_You know what I want_  
_It’s candy to cum to_

Stan stumbled out of the crowd, and staggered his way back to the bar. Brendon was busy helping other patrons, but gave Stan a nod to show he’d noticed him. Stan struggled the catch his breath, heart racing. What the fuck was that about, he thought, furious. Who the fuck does that guy think he is? He glanced back to the stage, and saw Rick eyes still glued to him. He forced himself to look away, and took his first good look at the bar. He slowly started to register the sight of men holding each other’s hands, women smiling very flirtatiously at each other. The over-friendly bartender. It finally all clicked into place: Stan had walked into a gay bar.

 _Sick, sick, sick_  
_Don’t resist_  
_Sick, sick, sick_  
_Don’t resist_

“Oh, what the fuck?!” Stan yelled, slamming his hands down on the bar. A couple of people near him jumped at the noise, and scooted away. He threw all of them the dirtiest look he could muster, before storming out of the bar.

The cold hit him like a brick wall, but he hurried his way down the street. The last thing he needed was for someone to see him leaving a gay club. He stumbled down the street, head still slightly dizzy from the laced joint. He kept his head down, averting his eyes from any passerby’s. He had made it halfway down the block when he heard the voice cut through the silence.

“H-hey, where you going?”

Stan didn’t have to turn around to recognize the stutter, and kept walking, picking up his pace. He heard Rick’s footsteps grow in speed to catch up to him. Rick’s hand found his shoulder, and Stan wrenched it away.

“What the fuck you want from me?” he growled, not breaking his brisk walk.

“Wh-what’s your problem, man?” Rick responded, hiccupping. “I buy you booze, share my dr-drugs and th-this is what I get? I was j-just having a good time.”

“I’m not a fucking faggot,” Stan hissed, still trying to walk away.

“Oh—fuck, shit.” Rick’s footsteps stopped, and Stan found his own feet coming to a slow halt. “What d-did you expect? We were in a fucking gay ba—”

“Keep your voice down!” Stan interrupted. “Someone’s gonna hear ya!”

To his surprise, Rick complied, lowering his voice, “It didn’t mean anything, man. I-I was doing it for the fans. Th-They eat up that kinda shit, you know? Come on, we g-got more alcohol, more dr-drugs. It’s n-not like you got any better plans, do you?”

Stan glared at him, but he had to admit the offer was pretty tempting. He wasn’t one to pass up free shit. And Rick was definitely right; he didn’t have any plans besides trying to avoid the fate that awaited him the next day. Not to mention that Kollaxian stuff was the best high he’d ever had in his life. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend his last night on Earth. A sheepish grin spread across Stan’s face.

“Fuuuuck y-yeah!” Rick exclaimed, producing a flask from a back pocket in his pants and taking a large swig. He offered it to Stan, who took it gladly. “Let’s get riggity-riggity wrecked, son!”

***

The bar, which Stan learned was called The Purple Cactus, was a now a lot more packed than it had been when he had first entered. Brendon was frantically dashing around, trying to keep his patrons satiated, pouring drink after drink. Stan began to take a few steps towards the bar, when he noticed Rick heading straight for the door next to the stage. Stan followed closely behind, and the two slipped into the little, smoke-filled room. Squanchy was on the velvet couch, lighting the bowl of a brightly colored bong. Bird Person sat next to him, stiffly guzzling down the contents of a beer bottle. At the sight of Stan and Rick, the two erupted in noises of approval.

“Stanley, I am so glad you have returned,” Bird Person said in the same flat tone. “I was worried Rick’s antics had scared you off.”

“I told you he was squanchy enough to squanch around!”

Rick dug around his pocket, and extracted a tiny bag full of little round pills. He passed one to Squanchy and Bird Person, who each immediately swallowed them without question. Rick held out his hand to Stan, a single pill resting in the center of his palm. Stan took it and eyed it apprehensively.

“What the hell is this thing?” he said. “This ain’t gonna melt my brains or anything, is it?”

“N-nah, just take it,” Rick pressed. “It’s nowhere near as intense as pure K-Lax, I’ll t-tell you that much. Y-you scared of a little pill?”

“Who said I was scared? Stan Pines ain’t afraid of nothin’. Got some water or somethin’?”

Rick snickered, tossing Stan a nearly empty bottle of vodka.

“Ch-Cheers.”

Rick nudged Stan down onto the couch, and watched with interest as Stan tossed back the mystery pill. He chased it with the rest of the vodka bottle, and felt his head suddenly feel very heavy. He was surprised by how fast the pill was hitting, and combined with everything else he had taken that night, he was sure it was going to be a rough ride. Rick slid beside him on the couch, taking a freshly rolled joint from Bird Person. He held it in his lips, using one hand to light it with a Zippo, the other hand resting heavily on Stan’s thigh. Stan vaguely thought to protest, but found that he didn’t care after all. A small giggle left his lips, and he felt like his head was slowly expanding. It wasn’t a bad feeling.

“Let’s have some fun, shall we?” Rick muttered in a low voice, blowing a cloud of smoke into Stan’s face for the second time that night.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stan couldn’t tell how much time had passed as he and Rick continued their wild night of partying. But he was sure that the entire night Rick seemed to be just a little too close, always finding a reason to touch Stan or pushing against him while they danced. Any other night, and Stan wouldn’t have let him get away with it. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the drugs, but Stan really didn’t care enough to put up a fight. He actually didn’t really mind at all. Before he knew it, Rick was leading him outside, a lanky arm slung across Stan’s broad shoulders.

“Where are we going? Another bar?” Stan asked, not sure if he could handle any more alcohol. He wasn’t trying to destroy his liver in one night.

“Well,” Rick replied casually, “I-I was planning on taking this party back to m-my motel room. You’re m-more than welcome to join.”

“Aw, I don’t know, Rick,” Stan muttered sheepishly, “I shouldn’t—“

“I h-have an extra bed,” Rick said, shrugging. “Just thought I’d offer.”

Stan’s heart nearly stopped at the thought of sleeping in an actual bed. He stopped in his tracks. His wishful thinking was coming true.

“Are you a wizard?” he asked drunkenly, staring at Rick with wide eyes.

“Y-You’re close,” Rick answered, waving down a cab. “I-I’m a scientist.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Rick let Stan into the small room, Stan vaguely noticed there was only one king-sized bed. Before he could question it, he felt Rick’s body press against his back.

"Do you wanna f-f-fuuck me?" Rick muttered into Stan's ear, shutting the door behind them.

Stan's eyes widened. He felt his stomach clench with immediate arousal. Rick pulled him closer, his hand resting on his broad chest. He had already known the answer to this question before Rick asked, but his mind was racing with self-doubt. It had been a long, dry couple of years on the run for Stan, he could barely remember the last time he had slept with someone.

"It's a y-yes or no question, Stanley. Don’t think I didn’t notice you st-staring at me on stage." 

Before he could stop himself, Stan nodded nervously. For once in his life, he was speechless. It wasn't a something he was used to. He couldn’t lie to himself: he found Rick undeniably attractive. He could hardly keep his eyes off of him the entire night. The slender man laughed, a confident smirk spreading across his thin face. He draped his lanky arms around Stan's neck, and casually gave him a small, quick kiss on the back of his neck. 

"L-let me do all the work, b-b-baaaby," he muttered under his breath. 

He pushed Stan onto the bed, then quickly stripped off his own tank top. His hands quickly went to work on the buttons of Stan's flannel. The shorter man fumbled with his zipper, shaking hands losing the battle. Ricks laughter both excited and embarrassed him, a flush creeping across his face. His shirt was open before he knew it, and Rick was pushing up his undershirt, kissing down his chest. Rick's hands pushed his out of the way and quickly discarded his pants. Stan's excitement was clear, and soon his boxers found their place on the floor.

Rick's mouth was hot and wet. A muffled moan escaped Stan's lips. Rick took his hard cock all the way in, the tip touching the back of his throat. His hands curled around his hips, holding Stan against the bed as he took him in and out of his mouth, sucking hard. Stan panted, letting out another low moan. He couldn’t help but glance down, and the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Rick’s mouth drove him even closer to the edge. Rick's head bobbed as his movements quickened, causing Stan’s back to arch, the muscles in his thigh beginning to spasm. Just when he thought he couldn't take it any longer, Rick came to an abrupt stop, removing Stan from his mouth with a loud pop.

"L-lie down," he instructed hoarsely, reaching over to rummage through the pockets the pants he was somehow still wearing. He produced a dollar bill and a small vial, unscrewing the cap. "St-stay still." 

He carefully laid a long line of bright blue powder on Stan's trembling stomach. In the dark hotel room it looked as though it was glowing. Stan struggled to stay still; Rick's light touches were driving him wild, his erection throbbing almost painfully. After capping the vial, Rick rolled the bill into a tight cylinder, and quickly snorted the substance off of his skin with a load groan. 

"D-d-d-do you want some?" he offered, peering at Stan through heavily lidded eyes. 

"Is that coke?" Stan replied, apprehensive. 

"Sure," Rick scoffed with a smirk. 

Stan was pretty sure coke was white, at least all the stuff he had ever done was. He shook his head, more than ready to continue what Rick had started. He laughed again. 

"More for me."

He lined up the rest of the contents on Stan's stomach, snorting it in a swift movement. Before Stan could react, Rick's lips were crushing his own, and he could feel his hard cock through the thick material of his pants. As though reading his mind, Rick slid out of the jeans in a fluid motion. Before he knew it, Rick was sitting on top of him, his ass positioned right above Stan's face. 

"Don't just st-stare at it, Stanley. E-e-eat it."

Stan didn't need to be told twice. He went to work on Rick, his tongue swirling, licking in broad strokes. Rick let out a satisfied moan. Stan was good at this. His tongue darted and prodded, and Rick began to grind down against his movements. Stan's hand found his own cock, stroking feverishly. Rick's asshole began to relax, and Stan used the opportunity to push a finger in, slipping in and out while he took Rick's balls into his mouth and sucked gently. A low, guttural sound left Rick's mouth. 

"Another finger," he instructed. 

Stan obliged, forcing another finger in, slowly moving in and out. Rick moaned even louder, the abruptly tore himself off Stan. He reached over and grabbed a bottle of lube from the drawer in the bedside table. He squeezed a sizable amount onto his palm and slowly rubbed it all over Stan's erection. 

"Ready for this?" he purred, hovering over Stan, grabbing his cock to position it. 

Before Stan could answer, he was inside of Rick. A small “fuck” left Rick’s lips as he started to move slowly, deliberately, feeling every inch of Stan’s thick cock push farther and farther in. Stan’s breath caught in his throat as Rick began to ride him. The ever present smirk never left his lips as he began to speed up, grinding down hard on Stan. He began to stroke his own cock, his hand matching the movement of his hips. Stan couldn't believe how incredible Rick felt, so tight and hot. He began to buck under him, pushing himself as far and deep into Rick as he could. Rick's movements became more erratic, his breathing heavy. 

"Oh yeah, f-fuck me. H-harder ba-baby," Rick panted. 

Stan obliged, pounding into Rick, drawing out loud moans with each thrust. Sweat dropped from Rick onto Stan's own slick skin. Stan felt himself nearing orgasm, his body stiffening as he neared release. Sensing this, Rick quickened his grinding, tightening his grip on his own cock. 

"Y-y-you gonna cum for me?" he whispered, his voice low and rough. "I w-w-want you to cum for me r-r-r-right now." 

Without a second thought, Stan was ejaculating, hard and fast. His back arched and he could feel Rick tighten around him, riding out his orgasm. With a loud groan, Rick finished as well, his seed shooting up and spraying across Stan's chest. A couple of drops made it all the way up to his lips. Rick reached out to wipe some up, and forced the finger into Stan's mouth. He eagerly sucked it clean, still wildly aroused. Rick extracted himself from Stan and slowly dragged his tongue his chest, licking him clean.

“F-Fuck,” Rick sighed, collapsing on Stan’s broad chest. “G-Good job.”

Stan tried to respond, but was struggling to steady his breath, amazed by the intensity of his orgasms. He mustered a small grunt, before collapsing his head against the pillow. He started to snore almost instantly, and fell asleep with Rick wrapped in his arms.


	2. Be My Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan wakes up in a stranger's bed with a killer hangover. To make matters worse, he's a wanted man. Rick makes him an offer he can't refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray! Chapter 2 is finally complete. Not sure what it was about this one, but it was hard to crank out. I hope you enjoy!

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Stan jolted awake, hair plastered to his forehead by sweat. He was immediately aware of the other man draped across his chest, a small pool of saliva pooling near his open mouth. The lanky man didn’t seem to notice the knocking, either that or he didn’t care. Head throbbing, Stan extracted himself from the man he vaguely remembered was named Rick. Rick made a small noise of discontent, before flopping around and cuddling with a pillow. Stan gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, blinking slowly as he began to take in his surroundings. One look at the place and he could see he was in a shabby motel room.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Each knock on the door rang through Stan’s head; he groaned. Standing to open the door, he realized he was completely naked. Alarmed, he glanced back to Rick, who was also clearly nude beneath the blanket. The events from the night before came rushing back in a sudden realization. The booze, the drugs, the sex. Oh god, _the sex_. Stan was overcome by a wave of nausea, and he sprinted through the open door to the restroom. The meager contents of his stomach spilled out into the toilet bowl, mostly stomach acid and some lonely bar peanuts.

As he retched over the toilet, flashes of the night before came flooding back in startling clarity. A chugging contest. Getting high with the band backstage. The concert in the gay bar. That first kiss. Fury. Weakness. More drugs. More booze. Leaving the bar. Rick’s lips against his skin. He collapsed to his knees with a moan.

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

“F-Fuck, I’m tr-trying to get some sleep!” Rick’s voice rang from the bed.

Stan clutched the toilet, trying to steady his breathing. He heard Rick leave the bed, scramble to put some clothes on, and open the door.

“Good morning, Rick,” a familiarly flat voice said as soon as the door was cracked. “We need to leave soon. Are you ready?”  

“J-just give me a second, Bird Person,” Rick responded in a low voice. There was a pause. “I-I’ll meet you g-guys in a few minutes.”

“Ok, Rick. We will see you in a few minutes. Tell Stanley I said hello.”

Stan cringed, his grip tightening around the porcelain. How did he know he was here? Another wave of nausea, but he had nothing left in his stomach. He dry-heaved uselessly over the toilet bowl, bitterly knowing it wouldn’t help. As he retched, he felt a small cylindrical object softly hit the bottom of his foot. Stan reached back to find a water bottle, and immediately chugged it gratefully, soothing his dry throat.

“Y-You’re welcome,” Rick said, eyeing Stan from the doorway. He tossed him his clothes.

"A-As much as I'm enjoying the v-view," Rick went on, eyes raking over Stanley's exposed ass, "you should get dressed. W-We need to leave real soon."

Rick disappeared from the doorway, and Stan stared blankly at the spot where he had been standing. After a moment, he returned to his senses, and hastened to pull on his pants.

"Hey, uh, Rick?”  Stan called out after him, taking his place at the doorway. “What...what happened last night?”

“Well, j-judging by the cum on your chest and my sore ass, I-I’m pretty sure we fucked. I th-thought that was pretty obvious.”

Stan flinched at Rick’s words, not expecting to hear it put so bluntly. He wasn’t sure what had made him ask the question; he had already known the answer. A heavy sigh left his mouth as he buttoned up his shirt. The pounding in his head was gradually decreasing .

“Um, well, last night was--uh-- _great_ and all, but I don’t really swing that way…. I mean, I really, really need to get out of this town as soon as possible, and I left my car parked a few blocks away and need to make sure it wasn’t towed. I guess I’ll just have to see you around or somethin’…”

Stan sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

"O-Oh, well that's too bad," Rick replied, smirking at Stan's clear nervousness. "M-Me and the guys were looking for someone t-to help out the band. You know, a _st-strong_ guy to carry all those _h-heavy_ instruments. You s-seemed like you'd make a good roadie."

Stan raised his eyebrows in surprise, contemplating Rick’s offer. Giovanni’s threat rang in the back of his head: _“You don’t wanna be dog food, now do ya?”_ He sure as hell didn’t have the guy’s money. His only choice was to skip town, either that or get himself killed by the murderous loan shark. The only problem was he didn’t have anywhere to go, which is what brought him to this sorry town in the first place. As least with Rick and the guys he’d have something to do, maybe even make a little money somehow. _This could be my ticket out of this grave I’ve dug for myself._

“T-Tell you what,’ Rick went on, rolling his eyes, “s-sometimes we put up a little merch booth, b-but we never have anyone to run it. If you wanna run the merch stand, you c-can get a cut of whatever you sell.”

Stan’s eyes lit up, a small grin spreading across his face. 

“Roadie, huh? You guys leaving today?”

“W-We were supposed to be g-gone an hour ago.”

“Well, I can’t pass up that good of an offer. Under one condition: last night didn’t happen, alright?” Stan offered Rick his hand. 

Rick let out a harsh laugh.

"S-sure Stan, keep telling yourself that. Wh-what was that you said about a car?" He ignored Stan's hand and began gathering his items that were strewn about the hotel room.

Stan awkwardly dropped his hand, and tried to brush off Rick’s initial comment.

"Yeah, it’s not too far. It’s got all my belongings, so we can just pick it up and get the hell outta this lousy place.”

Rick tossed his belongings in a small suitcase, and hefted his guitar case on his shoulder.

"Squanchy a-and Bird Person are waiting. L-Let’s go get your car."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bird Person, Squanchy, and Rick followed Stan to the meter where the Stanmobile was parked. He was surprised to the see absence of a parking ticket on his dusty windshield. He dug around his pocket, and was relieved to find he hadn’t lost his keys in the shenanigans from the night before. _Finally,_ he thought, _some good luck for once._

“Ok, guys, hop in!” he called out, unlocking the doors.

“That’s a real nice car, Stanley,” cut in a voice that didn’t belong to Rick or the others.

Giovanni and a crowd of his goons emerged from the shadows of an alleyway. They each boasted a various weapons: wooden bats, heavy chains, switchblades glinting in the sunlight. Giovanni himself had a handgun tucked into his waistband. Stanley tensed up, heart pounding as he stared at the mob of people just waiting for the command to rip him to shreds. He heard Rick shift behind him.

“I think this car’s worth about $2000, wouldn’t you say so?” he went on. “I’ll tell ya what, I’m feeling real generous today, Stanley. Now, we both know that ya don’t got my money. But I’ll make ya an offer ya can’t refuse: I’ll take the car and we call it even.”

“This car is worth way more than that!” Stan yelled, unable to swallow his pride. “You’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands!”

“That can be arranged,” Giovanni laughed, his goons following suit. Stan could see them tightening their grips on their weapons in apprehension.

“I-I don’t mean to interrupt,” Rick butt in, “but we’re on a very t-tight schedule here. And we’re gonna n-need this car.”

“Ha! And what makes ya think that’s gonna stop me from takin’ it?” Giovanni barked back, his hand resting on his gun. “You value your life, kid? Stay out of it.”

“I-I-I reeeaally don’t think y-you wanna go down this road, buddy,” Rick responded, slowly taking his flask from his pocket and taking a swig. “I-It won’t end well for you or your--” he gestured with his flask, “-- p-posse.”

“Was that a threat?” Giovanni replied in a low, dangerous voice. “‘Cause I don’t like being threatened, boy.”

“F-First of all, I have a name,” Rick responded, tucking the flask out of sight. “Call me Rick. Stop with this ‘kid’ and ‘boy’ bullshit. What are you, a comic book villain? A-a-and second of all, yes, that was a threat, one I-I’m about to make good on.”

Before anyone could react, Rick swiftly pointed his wrist at Giovanni and pressed a button on what Stan thought was a watch. The man instantly evaporated into a cloud of smoke, and a snake slithered from the spot where he stood. The crowd of goons immediately erupted in panicked response. Eyes widened, weapons dropped to the floor, and they all began chattering like a bunch of lost children.

“D-Did you s-see that?”  
  
“Was that a fucking _snake?”_

“ _Did he just turn Giovanni into a snake?!”_

“H-Hurry, get in the fucking car!” Rick yelled, sliding across hood of the car and scrambling into the passenger's seat.

Stan hurried into the driver’s seat, trying to ignore what he’d just witnessed, and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and Rick tossed his bags into the back seat with Squanchy and Bird Person. The mob of Giovanni’s goons began to gather around the car, banging on the windows in confusion and anger. The mob grouped in front of the car, slamming their fists down on the hood, blocking Stan’s way out of the one-way street. He revved the engine menacingly, but the crowd showed no signs of moving. 

“What the fuck are they doing?!” Stan yelled in frustration, He cracked the window and called out to them, “Easy on the car! You’re gonna dent it, you assholes! I just want to get out of this damn town!”

“B-Back up,” Rick said calmly, rummaging through his bag in the back seat.

“Rick I can’t just back up down a one-way--”

“D-Did I stutter?!” Rick said ironically, extracting a small, gun-like object from his bag.

He rolled down his window and shimmied his top half out of the car. The goons continued their banging, still raving hysterically and throwing their weapons. A bat landed in the center of the Stanmobile’s windshield, producing a thick crack that stretched across the length of the glass. Stan howled as if he had been struck himself. A chain narrowly missed Rick’s head.

“B-back the fuck up, and fast!”

Stan put the car in reverse, and slammed his foot on the gas pedal. They peeled backwards, and Stan could see Rick aiming the gun behind the car. A bright, swirling green portal appeared behind them, glowing and round.

“What the _fuck?”_ Stan screamed, lifting his foot from the gas.

Their momentum sent them sailing through the portal, just as Stan smashed down on the brakes. The one-way had completely disappeared, the mob of lost goons nowhere to been seen.Strange, towering trees stretched up into the sky, and glowing blue crystals jutted from the ground. In the distance, Stan could barely make out the outlines of buildings as high as the trees.

“Welcome to my home, Stanley,” Bird Person said from the backseat. “This is Birdworld.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to lieutenantruby once again for being an awesome beta! Any comments or critiques are highly appreciated! <3


End file.
